The Host in the House
by Ratkinzluver33
Summary: Michael is bored. Terrible, terrible things happen when Michael is bored. This party is one of them. - (Michael!Dean)


**Author's Note: **I've always been fascinated by the Michael!Dean (Dean as Michael/Michael as Dean) headcanon, and one day I got bored. This happened. It's all because a friend of mine dared me to write a hardcore crack!fic. I can't quite tell if this is a good or bad thing.

...Oh, God. What have I done?

* * *

Up in the Host, Michael is bored. Ever since Chuck appointed him temporary-God when he went on vacation, Michael's life has been a living hell (figuratively, of course). But now, everything seems to have quieted down. Usually, this turn of events would be considered a relief for Michael, but as of late, there has simply been nothing to do. So, it occurs to him that he should have a party.

"This is a fantastic idea!" shouts Samandriel when Michael informs him of the plan, and the party has begun before Michael can even protest that it was a "pretty freakin' dumb idea".

* * *

Michael's never really thrown a party in Heaven before. Hell, he has thrown some pretty damned crazy parties, just... not ones full of seriously conservative angels. He doesn't really know how he's going to explain to them that parties involve not tea and casual conversation, but beer and casual sex. Honestly, why did he let Samandriel talk him into this? Oh, wait, it was his idea. Since when has he been so stupid?

* * *

The guests plan to arrive at seven PM Heaven Standard Time the next day. Quite frankly, Michael doesn't really know what he's doing, so he invites Sam over to help him out. "Sam, Sam, you've got to help me!" he begs, practically grovelling at Sam's feet.

"Dean, are you freaking kidding me? You need help throwing a party?"

"Sam, you don't understand, man! Think of a million Cas's in one room! Remember what Cas said? He called a strip bar a 'den of iniquity', for God's sake!" Michael cries.

Sam shakes his head. "Okay, I see your problem. Fine, I'll help, but you have to give me something awesome in return. Like a year's subscription to Eating Well magazine!"

"You are joking, right? Please tell me you're joking."

"Dead serious."

So, Sam plans the party and gets a subscription to Eating Well.

* * *

All one hundred guests arrive punctually at seven PM. _Wow, figures,_ he thinks to himself cynically. Michael calmly decides that, even if something terrible happens, nobody knows him anyway, so it's all cool. That is, until he sees Cas walk in the door. Who the hell invited the one person he had to impress? Oh, right, him again. Fantastic! "Hey, Cas, my man!" he says, sauntering over.

"Hello, Michael," Cas greets.

"How many times have I told you, you can still call me Dean!" Michael laughs, patting him on the back. Okay, so this is awkward. So what? He's going to be just fine. "Why don't we get you a beer, Cas?"

And that's all Michael remembers before he wakes up the next morning.

* * *

An ear-piercing, bloodcurdling screech echoes throughout Michael's house, waking him up in a shot. "My head, my head..." someone mumbles, and proceeds to throw up all over Michael's nice, previously-clean carpet.

Michael tries to fly in the direction of the scream, but his wings suddenly feel heavy and itchy, so he doesn't bother. It's not like he can't walk, right? Wrong.

Standing up feels like God has decided to slam his foot on Michael's head, and a wave of nausea washes over him. _It doesn't matter,_ he tells himself, _I have to go figure out what's wrong..._ So, he stumbles toward the bathroom to see what terrible thing could have happened. Slowly, cautiously, he opens the door... and is met with the most hilarious sight he's ever seen in his entire life.

Cas stands in front of the mirror cradling his wings, which have been dyed in a rainbow pattern and drenched in glue-covered, cheap plastic jewels. An angel's wings are its most prised possession, so finding them ruined isn't exactly a walk in the park. Michael knows this well, his own wings are as precious to him as his baby, the Impala. Casually, he looks in the mirror to see how they're doing.

They're lavender purple. And covered in glitter. Michael feels the world spin, sinks backwards onto the door, and blacks out.

* * *

He wakes up for the second time and mentally prepares himself for the worst. Cas is still drunk, crying like a baby, and curled in a ball in the bathtub mumbling something along the lines of, "My wings used to help me attract a mate, but now I just look like a flaming homosexual!"

Michael, who's still a little tipsy, counters with, "Since when were you not a flaming homosexual?" and stumbles to the toilet to throw up the entirity of his stomach contents.

Cas lets out another pained wail. "I do not care about the gender of my soulmate, but this just looks foolish!"

"Come on, man, it's not that bad. Look, I have it, too!" Michael offers a wing out for Cas to touch while he gasps over the toilet bowl.

Cas runs a hand through Michael's wing and bursts into hysterics. "You did not deserve this humiliation either, Dean!"

"Now, now. You're drunk, Cas. We'll both be able to wash this out later today. Just perhaps when we're not so drunk, okay?"

"Okay," the drunken angel sniffs.

"Alright, now let me go see what damage has been done to my house." Michael drags himself out of the bathroom and into the main hallway.

The house could be worse. There are cups, cans, and discarded items of clothing strewn around, sure, but at least it's not on fire. Right now he's in too much pain to mojo the house clean, though, so he walks through the back door to observe the damage done to the back yard. Okay, the exterior of his house couldn't get any worse than it is. Nor could the state of the yard, really. Sam is lying on an inflatable bed in the pool, sunglasses covering his eyes, and snoring louder than a train; Samandriel is on the roof, cuddling an inflatable person (that looks suspiciously like Adam) wearing the name-tag "Alfie's Boyfriend #2 because polygamy."; Balthazar has a pair of women's underwear on his head, a sticky note labelled "Ain't no party till Balthy walks in!" stuck to his back, and is lying slumped in a corner; Jo and Ash are lying next to each other, holding hands with a bottle of beer; Ellen is in a hammock, looking completely serene; Bobby and**_ Crowley _**are curled up together in a corner, heads resting on each other; and, finally, Gabriel is lying face-first in the grass, with a pair of boxers Dean got Sam for Christmas one year cradled in his hands. Michael doesn't care about the other stuff, he just cares about why Gabriel has Sam's boxers. He's about to unleash the wrath of God upon everyone, especially Crowley for setting foot here, when suddenly Adam comes strolling out from behind the house, wearing a dress and singing "Last Friday Night" at the top of his lungs. He still doesn't wake anyone up. _On the bright side at least Lucifer's not here,_ Michael muses. And then the Devil himself drops out of a tree. _I thought that too soon, didn't I? And is that an "I heart Sam Winchester" t-shirt?_

* * *

Lucifer, unluckily, refuses to go crawling back to Hell with Crowley. Apparently he's "too drunk to care what you fools think" and he's "staying no matter what". No party-goer has recovered from their drunken coma, either. Except, of course, for Cas. Who's still hammered. And when Cas's hammered, that's a bad thing. _A very bad thing._

"Dean!" he sings, wobbling on his feet. "Deanie Weenie, how are we going to clean up this mess?"

"I guess we're going to have to do it manually until I feel better," Michael sighs, beginning to pick up the many plastic cups hidden in the most ridiculous places. There's one in his freaking clothes drawer, for Christ's sake!

"Deanie, last night, I think there was a wedding. I have a ring on," Cas says. He looks horrified. "I don't know who I married, Dean! I don't remember!"

"Calm down, buddy," Michael hiccups, "it's all good. We'll just find out who else is wearing a matching ring!" Before Cas can reply, Michael opens the door to the bedroom, and a flamingo comes running out.

"Aren't you pretty? Pretty little thing!" Cas coos, petting its head. The thing squawks loudly, and snaps at one of Cas's fingers. "Ouch, flamingo! You bit me! You silly thing, you!"

Michael manages to find the whole ordeal hilarious. He also manages to grab another beer. Drunkenly cleaning up your house is not a good idea, especially when you're an archangel. "What are we going to do with this guy?" Michael asks as he runs around his bedroom and tries to catch the pink bird.

"Dean, we should keep it as a pet," Cas says matter-of-factly.

Something convinces Michael that this is a good decision. "Mmkay," he mumbles, as he finally manages to get the thing in a cage. He doesn't remember why there's a cage in his house anyway. Maybe someone brought it over last night? Michael's thoughts are interrupted.

"Can't touch this!" comes a drunken howl.

"I think someone's woken up," Cas offers.

"I think that's a reasonably accurate suggestion," the drunken voice says, stumbling into the bedroom with them.

"Sammy? How did you get out of the pool without getting wet?" Michael looks confused.

"Gabe has, like, this... thing... I think it's actually just a ladder, but he called it a 'magical water bridge', so I used it to get out of the pool. It was a pretty magical experience," says Sam, like it's totally normal to climb out of a pool on a bridge made out of a ladder.

Michael seems to think it's normal, too, because he just shrugs. "That's Gabriel for you."

"Hey, pretty boy!" Gabriel wanders in and pats Sam on the back.

"I thought my nickname was Samsquatch?"

"You have a lot of nicknames," Gabriel says, shrugging. The angels seem to like shrugging today. "Now let's get this mess cleaned up, am I right?"

A lion appears in the middle of the room. Cas gives Gabriel a furious look, and then burps. It's not very menacing.

"Woops!" Gabriel gives a nervous laugh. "I guess my powers are a little loopy when I'm plastered!"

"You don't say." Michael glares at him.

"Don't worry, I'll fix this, big bro. Or little bro? I can't remember!"

Michael doesn't seem offended, so Gabriel tries again to work his mojo. The lion disappears this time, but in its place Gabriel creates a giant, rainbow lollipop.

"That's not cleaning up the house!" Sam points out.

"I know! I can't really do anything, so it looks like we're all going to have to do this the hard way. With lollies, of course."

"So," Michael gestures to Gabriel, "you can't clean up a house, but you _can_ conjure a lion into existence out of thin air and eat a lollipop?"

"That's me!" Gabriel says, and nobody seems bothered by it.

* * *

"How many of these freaking cups did I buy?" Michael asks nobody in particular.

"I think Sam was the one responsible for cup-buying," Cas replies.

"Yep, that was me!" Sam continues to scrounge for more discarded party supplies, and acts like they're a precious item every time he finds one.

"Why are previously-used plastic cups and probably condoms so important to you, Sammy?"

"Because," Sam says, holding some in his arms, "I'm going to make a sculpture out of them."

"Are you kidding me? That's great!" Michael cries, embracing Sam in a tight hug. "I always knew my little brother would make a man out of himself."

"How is making a sculpture manly?" Gabriel asks casually.

"Because... actually it isn't, but I just wanted to use the phrase 'make a man out of'."

"That actually makes a fair lot of sense."

"Are we ever going to find out who I married?" Cas interrupts.

"Yes! Why don't we take a momentary break now and check?" Michael says, ignoring everyone's response and grabbing Cas's hand.

"Hey! This is my ring! What are you doing wearing my ring on your ring finger?"

"I don't know. You said it was a ring finger, so maybe that's why," Cas shrugs. Wow, everyone is really into the whole shrugging thing today.

"No, but you're supposed to wear your wedding ring on your ring finger!" Michael snaps.

"Well, obviously."

"Cas," Michael asks, looking somewhat terrified, "are we married?"

Then it clicks. "Dean, I think we got married last night."

"Oh well!" Michael takes a bite out of Gabriel's lollipop. "Cas, I guess we're husband and wife."

"Who gets to be the wife?" Gabriel asks and snatches back his lollipop.

"Dean does, of course. He looks best in a dress," Cas says pointedly.

"How the hell would you know that?" Michael gasps.

"The dress that Adam was wearing this morning is actually yours. I vaguely remember buying it for you last night."

"Oh, hell. Why did I agree to do this again?"

"Do what? Marry me or buy a dress?"

"I was referring to planning this party, but buying a dress is an action I should definitely question, as well. I think I have poor judgment when I'm drunk."

"Deanie, ever since you became a gay angel, you've learnt such fancy words! I'm proud of you, bro!" Sam says and pats Michael on the back.

"I'm not a gay angel!" Michael snaps.

"You married Cas, aka your best friend that's a dude. Or at least, I'm pretty sure Cas is a dude. Are you a dude, Cas?"

"I don't technically have a gender, Sam."

"That's a pleasant thought."

"Is it?" Cas looks surprised.

"Not particularly."

* * *

"Sweet!" Michael yells, jumping up and down. "We've finally almost finished cleaning up the inside! Now we just have to cart everyone out of the back yard and in here, and then go clean up the outside!"

"Great, more work." Gabriel shakes his head.

"Come on, guys! Don't let it get you down." Michael gives the three a reassuring slap on the shoulder.

"Hey, Dean." Sam taps him.

"Yeah?"

"Isn't Cas technically your brother since all angels are brethren or some crap like that?"

"Well, Becky always has approved of incest," Michael says, like it's going to make anything better.

Sam doesn't seem fazed.

Suddenly, Lucifer comes running through the back door and into the hallway. "Help," he says drunkenly, "help! They're fiddling with my wings!"

"Who? What? Where?" Sam looks at Lucifer like he's grown two heads. He probably has two heads at least on his true form anyway.

"Your sick friends Balthazar and Anael are poking my wings! Just because my wings are scaled instead of feathered it doesn't mean they're an _anomaly_ to be _experimented_ with."

"You're the Devil," says Sam, as if it's not a disturbing thought at all.

"Yes? And?"

"Luke, lemme tell you, you can just stand up to them, okay? Don't let them get to you! You're a big boy," Sam explains.

"Thanks, Sammy!"

Gabriel fumes. "I called dibs on him first, Lucy!"

"No, I'm the one who's meant to be i_nside_ him. Quite literally," Lucifer retorts.

"Doesn't mean you get dibs! That's not fair! Mikey, tell him it's not fair!"

"What the hell are you both, three? My brother isn't an _item!_ You can't call dibs on him," Michael snaps.

"Threesome?" asks Sam.

Michael slams his head down into his palms.

* * *

"I think we need a wheelbarrow." Lucifer desperately tries to shake Bobby and Crowley awake.

"I have a wagon in my garage," Michael mumbles.

"What the hell do you have a wagon in your garage for?" Gabriel gives him a judgemental look.

"Every Halloween I go pumpkin picking, and I always wheel the pumpkins away in the wagon!"

"That's actually way more reasonable than I thought it was going to be." Gabriel seems surprised.

"Thanks, bro. That's reassuring."

"Glad I could help!"

Sam drags the wagon out of the garage and sets it down next to the pool. "We really need to decide who gets put in the wagon first."

"The fat ones go first," Lucifer says before anyone else can put in their two-cents.

"Bobby and Crowley are the oldest, we'll take them." Sam ignores the Devil's comment.

"Fine, don't follow my advice then."

Adam hops into the wagon. "Take me!" he sings. "Actually, not literally. Only Samandriel can do that."

Everyone groans. "Get out, we're taking Bobby and his demon buttbuddy first," Lucifer hisses.

"No! Big bro and bigger bro, tell him he's being unreasonable!" Adam pouts.

"Are you all three year-olds today?" Michael screams and drags Adam into the house in the wagon.

"_Whee!_"

Sam chooses to ignore everything and pretend it's not happening. Even if he is drunk, he knows when things are bad.

Michael comes back from the house, dragging the wagon behind him. "Now time for Bobby and Crowley. How are we going to get them in?"

Sam pokes at the two sleeping figures. "Come on, you two. You have to get inside," he says quietly.

"No, you tall prat, I'm sleeping." Crowley swats Sam's hand away.

"Hey, don't talk to my Sammykins like that!" Gabriel snaps.

"Sammykins?" Sam questions.

"What? It's a reasonable nickname."

"Not really."

"Don't be that way, Green Eggs and Sam."

"That's it. I'll ignore you," Sam warns.

"Don't do that, baby!" Gabriel hugs Sam. He really is drunk.

* * *

Once everyone's inside, Michael feels like his arms are going to drop off from pulling the wagon so roughly. Honestly, whose idea was this anyway? Oh, his. Right.

"We have to clean the yard now," says Gabriel.

"What time is it?" moans Sam, practically crawling out of the house.

"It's one in the afternoon."

"Holy crap. Time flies," Michael sighs.

"Time cannot physically move, as it is a concept," Cas corrects.

"Cas, if you weren't my husband, I would... something. I'm too drunk to come up with insults."

"Great job, Mikey," Gabriel interjects.

"Says the person who calls their friend 'Sammykins'."

"It's a good nickname," Gabriel growls.

"Is not."

"Is so."

"Is not!"

"Is so!"

"Shut up, the both of you!" yells Lucifer. Everyone goes quiet. "Good. That actually worked. I was testing my 'Commanding Ruler of the Underworld and Sexy Beast' voice. It seems to be working nicely."

"He's my boyfriend," Gabriel whispers.

"No, he's not."

"Yes, he is."

"No, he's not!"

"Yes, he is!"

"Can you guys stop arguing!?" Sam snaps furiously.

"No, we can't," Lucifer retorts.

"Yes, we can!" Gabriel shakes a fist at the fallen angel.

"No, obviously we can't, since we're doing it now."

"No, we're not!"

"Yes, we are!"

"No, we're not!"

"Yes, we are!"

"STOP IT BEFORE I KILL YOU BOTH!" Sam slams a fist down into thin air, but it still makes a loud banging noise. _Heheh, banging noise._

Everyone promptly quiets down and stops arguing. "Good, now listen. We have to work together to clean up the rest of this yard, understand? We can't have any bickering!"

"Go, Sam! Number one motivational speaker in the universe!"

"Shut up, Dean."

* * *

Sam contemplates how much he hates his life as he clambers up the roof to get Samandriel, who they had all realised they had forgotten to pick up. When he finally manages to stop gasping for breath and crying, he notices Samandriel has made himself a nice little nest out of party napkins and random items of clothing. He's an angel. With fully-functional wings. On a roof. In a nest. This has Sam in hysterics. A bottle comes flying at Sam before he can finish his laughter, though, and Michael calls, "Get him down from there! We don't have time to watch you laugh at nothing!"

Sam throws the bottle right back at Michael, who dodges, and narrowly misses getting slashed in the face by glass shards as the bottle breaks into a million little pieces. "Take that!" Sam yells back.

Michael huffs at him and throws broken glass into the pool in an act of ridiculous irresponsibility.

"Don't have a hissy fit down there!" Sam calls. "You'll end up killing someone!"

"I won't, I promise!"

"Doubtful!"

Michael rolls his eyes and Sam gets right back to dragging Samandriel off the roof. Sam throws the poor, sleeping angel off the roof like a rag doll and hopes to God someone caught him. Luckily, there's no scream of pain, so Sam considers that a win on his part.

"You could have given us a warning!" Sam hears, and he knows he's safe. Can you imagine if he had been responsible for breaking Samandriel's bones? His drunken brain snorts at the thought. That would have cost a lot of money in lawsuits.

"You done cleaning up his mess?" Gabriel says. "We've got more cleaning to be doing!"

"Coming!" Sam singsongs. He ends up falling down the ladder, as making a drunken person try to climb anything is like trying to make a giraffe fit into a cardboard box. Nobody comes to pick him up though, as they've all gotten too drunk to see properly in the time span of five minutes Sam's been up on the roof, and are trying to grasp at nothing.

"Sammykins, where are you?" Gabriel calls and stumbles into a wall.

Sam, who's now the most sober of them all and yet still hammered, cries something about "stupid, alcoholic featherbrains" and dusts himself off.

"Did you break something?" Michael says, because he still has his brotherly duties, even when he just drunk an entire bottle of vodka.

"I can't really feel my face, but I don't think anything's broken."

"That's good enough for me."

"Gee, thanks." Sam rolls his eyes, or, at least, he thinks he does, but he's kind of too out of it to tell.

There's a loud crash as Balthazar attempts to walk out the screen door, but bumps into the glass.

"Why are they trying to leave through the back door?" Michael looks dumbfounded. "Can't they go in peace? We don't have time to be saying formal goodbyes and seeing everyone out!"

"I'll do that," hiccups Samandriel, who's still in Lucifer's arms. "You can put me down now."

Sam watches carefully as he stumbles off and begins herding everyone out of their living room. "Well, I guess the guests are taken care of. Can we please clean up the rest of this now?"

* * *

Twenty minutes later, the yard is partially clean. It would technically be spotless if it weren't for the fact that they all decided to have a glass fight and use beer bottles as lightsabers. So, there are a lot of cracked glass pieces, which is probably more dangerous than they all think. Especially since they can barely see. "Come on, guys!" Michael calls. "We can try to use our powers to clean up all this glass!"

"Dude, not a good idea." Sam shifts his gaze over to Gabriel. "He's gonna make a lion again."

"Will not!" Gabriel says. "Cross my heart!"

"Alright, go for it then."

Gabriel holds a hand out towards the grass where they had the fight and tries to concentrate for a moment. The glass disappears, sure, but the threat-level doesn't. Michael is going to be the one who kills them all instead. Gabriel whistles innocently and tries to pretend he didn't just turn the grass pink.

"This is not cool. You guys are the worst family ever," Michael whines.

Cas gives him his most pathetic puppy eyes. "I am your family now, too, Dean. Officially."

"Cassie, baby, did I hurt your feelings? I'm sorry!"

Sam throws up onto the pink grass. It looks really gross, sort of like spaghetti on strawberry jelly. Gabriel seems to have realised that, too, because he gags and turns away.

"Can we go in now? Who cares about the grass?" Lucifer whimpers, obviously disgusted by the general blood-alcohol concentration of his family. "I don't want to have to deal with you guys anymore."

"Ouch, Lucy! I thought you liked me best, anyway!" Sam says, offended.

"Oh, I do... just, not really enjoying your vomit fiesta here."

Cas chokes a little on his beer. "Vomit fiesta?"

"What else would this be?"

Michael frowns. "Oh, you're right. Wow, why did I ever enjoy getting drunk again?"

"You seem to be questioning yourself a lot recently," Sam notes.

"That probably says something about the state of my life, doesn't it?"

Sam and Gabriel shrug. Lucifer looks vaguely fascinated by the pink grass and darkens it until it's blood red.

There are questioning looks.

"What? I like blood."

"I give up," Michael sighs.

* * *

Three hours later, all the party guests are gone, the house is clean, and the grass is green again, but everyone is still pretty drunk.

Sam whimpers something about marshmallows and settles back down onto the sofa which he is currently draped over. Michael again questions his judgment. Parties are a terrible idea. "Are any of you going to go home?" he grumbles.

"No." Lucifer nuzzles his head into Michael's carpet. "I like this carpet. 'S pretty soft. Hell doesn't have soft carpets."

Michael swiftly realises Lucifer is sobbing silently into his floor. "There, there, man. Just because you're the devil, it doesn't mean you can't hang out at my house and lie down on my carpet."

"Really?"

"Yeah, of course. I'm not just saying this because I'm drunk, by the way. As long as you promise not to wreak havoc on Heaven, you can appreciate my interior design choices any time."

"I pwomise," says Lucifer, who really is too drunk to maintain clear control over his speech abilities.

Well, at least Michael made someone happy in this whole ordeal. Maybe his life isn't so bad, after all.

Sam retches and throws up pinkish-purple fruit punch onto his sofa. "Oh, sorry. 'M drunk."

Okay, so perhaps - _just perhaps_ - he said that too soon.

_FIN._

* * *

**Ending Author's Note:** Well, I've had this project going on for a few months. I got a little busy and preoccupied with school, so I didn't manage to finish it until recently. Oh well, it was certainly worth it! Who says crack!fic can't be an enjoyable, educational writing experience? _-Nervous laughter-_ What is my life again?


End file.
